


Read My Mind

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 20:33:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12991989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Kurt is 25 years old and never experienced anal sex. He has many kinks, but can never ‘perform’ any of them, so he decides to start therapy to see if he can “loosen up” and have a less vanilla sex life. He ends up seeing Blaine, a recent graduate psychologist.Kurt’s shy of talking about sex with Blaine at first, but then relaxes with time. Blaine, even though trying to be professional, gets turned on while Kurt talks about his kinks. As soon as Kurt notices this, he starts teasing his psychologist, wearing tighter pants or speaking of more elaborated and detailed fantasies.





	Read My Mind

Kurt's never known a cup of coffee to hold the answer to his problems.

It perks him up when he's had a bad day, warms him during the cold nights when the heater breaks down and he and Rachel can't scrounge up the cash to fix it, and comforts him when his mind is racing too fast to grasp at. Looking down into the black liquid, he sees no resolution to his problems; just the sheer wisps of smoke rising from the porcelain cup.

The sound of the front door opening pulls Kurt from his daydreams. He stops playing with the mug and brings it too his lips, blowing on it slightly before taking his first sip. Not enough sugar. Oh well.

Rachel walks into the kitchen with a flourish, completely unaware that most people would be tired so early in the morning, and pours herself a cup of leftover coffee before joining Kurt at the island. She leans over the counter with a knowing smile.

"So…?" She prompts, pouring milk into her mug. "Good night?"

Kurt sighs and stirs the coffee absently before answering. "Same as always." He tries to leave it there but Rachel nudges him for more. "Everything was fine at the club, but when he asked to go to my place, I don't know. I just shut down. We fooled around a bit in my room but…" he shrugs as a way of finishing his sentence, then takes a long drink. He can feel it burning its way down his throat, but it's better than talking.

Rachel clucks her tongue consolingly and lightly touches his hand. "You're gonna have to stop asking me to spend the night elsewhere if you don't actually think you'll be getting any." The joke doesn't go over with Kurt very well, who glares at her over his cup, so she tries again. "Have you considered talking to someone? About your… performance anxiety?"

Kurt actually laughs at that. Performance anxiety. He can sing the most challenging songs, act the most dramatic scenes, in front of an audience of thousands. But when it comes to sex? He freezes.

"I talk to you, don't I? And that's painful enough as it is."

"You know what I mean," Rachel says earnestly. "A professional. Someone who knows what they're doing."

"I'm not paying some stranger a hundred dollars an hour to try and convince me this all stems from some deeply rooted daddy issues, or something."

"I'm serious, Kurt."

He can tell that she is. Like being a 25 year old virgin is some sort of issue, or that he needs fixing. He doesn't see what the big deal is. He's had plenty of experience with plenty of different men in his lifetime, and he enjoyed all of them. Why is everyone so fixated on his inability to go all the way?

"I was talking to a friend. He knows a guy who just graduated and is looking for some clients." She fishes out a business card and holds it out to Kurt. He takes it reluctantly and looks it over. "Apparently he's a really good guy, and he's gay, so he's got a lot of first hand experience with the subject matter." She smirks. Kurt rolls his eyes. "Plus, he's cheap."

The card is printed on flimsy stock, barely thicker than an average piece of paper. The text is faded slightly, as though the printer was running out of ink, but it's still legible. 

"Doctor Blaine Anderson, psychologist," Kurt reads aloud. "I don't know, Rachel. It all seems a bit much."

"Just think about it."

She leaves without another word, leaving Kurt to his thoughts.

"I don't need help," he says firmly to the empty kitchen. He drains his coffee and walks to the sink to wash his cup, leaving the card on the counter. 

\---

The club is dark and loud, just like every other one he's been to. The bass pounds steadily, seemingly reverberating out of the walls instead of the stacked amplifiers by the dance floor. The boys here are similar, as well. Tall, blonde, lithe bodies jammed into too-small clothes. There was a time, back in college, when he'd squeeze himself into the tightest pair of pants and fuss over his hair for hours, anything to get attention. And he got it in spades. 

But he's older now, not by much, but the window of desirability in clubs like these has always been laughably narrow. Of course he still puts an effort into his appearance, but he's not going to compete with the eighteen year olds grinding in the middle of the club, and it'd be too pathetic to try.

He sits at the bar, sipping slowly on a gin and tonic and replaying his game plan. He just needs someone to pick him up, which shouldn't be a problem-

"Hey."

That was easy. Kurt spins on the stool to face the stranger. Medium build, nice outfit, great hair, holding a bottle of beer. Well, he can't have everything. He smiles invitingly.

Kurt spins his phone in his hand and taps the card against his bed with another. He sets them both down and busies himself out in the kitchen with the coffee machine, scooping two heaping spoons of grinds into the filter before making his way back to his room. After a few minutes of hesitation, he punches in the numbers from the card. The phone rings once, twice, before he pulls it away and hangs up. 

Their trip to the dance floor is short; just a customary step between the bar and the bathroom stall. Only one song passes before Kurt's being pressed up against the bathroom divider, panting and grinding his hips against whatever hard surface he can reach, desperate for relief. 

"You're so hungry for it, aren't you?" The stranger breathes heavily. His hand brushes down Kurt's ass, fingers pressing against the crevice, like he's trying to fuck him through his jeans. "What do you want, baby? Tell me."

Kurt wants a lot. He's dreamed of so much more than he's ever been able to give. When he's alone in his room, fist wrapped tightly around his cock and pulling images from the darkest corner of his brain, he comes to thoughts of fantasies he's never been able to voice out loud. 

He wants to say "hold my head still and fuck my mouth." "Lick my asshole until I scream your name." "Take me home, tie me down, and fuck me raw."

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out; his words recalcitrant, his cheeks flushing. The man waits impatiently, trying to coax sense out of him by rubbing soothingly over his cock. But it's too late. Panic has already set in.

Kurt sips the coffee slowly, gathering courage and stares at his phone, hoping it might make the call for him. It doesn't. He sits there until his coffee cools and his stomach rumbles and he forces himself to pick up the phone. He dials the now-memorized number once more. On the fourth ring, a friendly sounding woman answers.

"Good afternoon, Doctor Anderson's office. How may I help you?"

\--

Doctor Anderson's office is located in a small strip mall, cushioned between a family dentist and a shoe repair shop. There's a large potted plant in the corner of the waiting room, fake, by the looks of it, and the chair cushions are a horrible blue vinyl. It smells like it was once a doctor's office. 

There's a pretty blonde woman at the reception desk wearing an oversized headset and staring at her computer screen, clearly absorbed in whatever she's doing. She doesn't notice him step up to the desk.

"Uh," Kurt starts weakly, getting her attention. "I'm Kurt Hummel, I have an appointment?"

"Of course." The woman smiles warmly and grabs a folder that had been sitting off to the side. "Just fill this out for me, sweetheart, and I'll let you know when you can go in."

He takes the folder and finds the cleanest chair in which to sit. The room is far too quiet as Kurt fills out the billing information. Just the clicks of the receptionist at the computer and the scratching of his pen fill the silence, setting him on edge. The next page he was given asks for a brief explanation of his motivation to set the appointment. He taps the pen against the clipboard anxiously, willing the question to disappear. He already had to explain it over the phone the other day, and having it in writing makes it so much more tangible. He quickly scribbles down, word for word, what he said before, and flips the page over. Out of sight, out of mind.

"All done, dear?" The receptionist asks. Kurt nods and hands her the file. With a quick scan of the pages she nods then sticks them in a filing cabinet. He sees only three other folders. "You can go ahead."

There's only one other room in the office. Kurt knocks lightly at the door. 

"Come in."

The first thing Kurt notices is the lack of a couch, for which he's eternally grateful. The furniture is warm, all dark woods and deep brown leather armchairs, a stark contrast to the generic sterility of the waiting room. A large bookshelf behind the desk holds volumes and volumes of leather-bound books, as well as a few knick-knacks. The only window allows light to land directly on the desk. Then there's the man sitting at it.

He can't be any older than Kurt. His hair is dark and gelled down, with a trace of curls peeking out at the front, and dark rimmed glasses perch low on a strong nose, as though he's just been reading, but they don't obscure long lashes and honey-brown eyes.

"Kurt, good to see you." He smiles and holds out his hand. Kurt tries not to notice how smooth his skin is. "Take a seat and we'll get started!" He claps once, enthusiastically, and waits for Kurt to sit before settling into the chair across the table from Kurt's. "So we'll just start slow for today, if that's alright. We can get to know each other a bit, get a feel for one another before we dig into the meaty stuff. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect."

Kurt talks about his job at a local theatre and the upcoming performance of Chicago. He mentions the stress of being head of costumes as well as taking a role in the show. Blaine admits that he had the acting bug as a teen, but his dreams were waylaid in order to devote himself to his degree. He even manages to break the tension by making Kurt laugh with some self-depreciating humour.

Kurt had been expecting someone much more serious. He envisioned a closed off room and a pudgy man with a beard asking him about his childhood. But Blaine is easy going. He asks that Kurt call him by his first name, and he talks freely without trying to subtly steer the conversation towards Kurt's problems, or dig into his past. 

But the question does come up eventually. He'd been preparing for it mentally, trying to string together the right words so he seems nonchalant about the whole situation, like he's above it, but nothing sounds right. 

So when Blaine finally asks, "what brings you here today?" Kurt blurts out his answer.

"I can't have sex."

Blaine nods and waits for him to elaborate.

"I want to have sex. And I've fooled around with guys. But when it comes to… uh…going all the way, it's like I hit a brick wall."

"Alright," Blaine jots something down in his notebook. "How comfortable are you with talking about your sex life?"

"Not very," Kurt replies sheepishly. Even with Rachel, his best friend for years, he tends to gloss over the details. 

"Then I'll try to make this as painless as possible: what do you describe as 'fooling around?'"

Kurt can feel himself blushing. "Um, you know. My hand, and uh. Mouth."

More notes in the book.

"But you've never gone past oral sex?"

Kurt shakes his head. 

"Do you have trouble achieving or maintaining an erection?"

He shakes his head again. His face is on fire. Blaine must notice because he sets the book down and changes his approach. 

They discuss past boyfriends. Kurt's had a few, all in college, but none had lasted longer than a few months. Turns out guys don't always want a boyfriend who's not going to put out. 

The session ends and Blaine assures him they can easily navigate this blockage (Kurt's glad he doesn't call it a 'problem'). He recommends one meeting a week, and makes it clear the more open Kurt can be, the more progress will make. "Just talk to Ms. Fabray on the way out. She'll set you up with all the details."

They shake hands once more and Kurt leaves, not quite relieved, but hopeful. 

 

\--

"How'd it go?"

Kurt groans loudly and sinks into the sofa, face first. After his session with Blaine, he headed straight for the theatre for eight hours of chasing after actors and pinning them into shapeless swaths of fabric. 

"So tired."

He feels the cushion by his feet sink as Rachel sits next to him. "Tell me about the good doctor."

Kurt shrugs. "He seems alright. Friendly. Not particularly austere like I'd imagined." He leaves out 'handsome.' "I'm still not thrilled about going there."

Rachel pats his leg. "It's good for you."

"Whatever."

"I have an early lesson tomorrow. Don't fall asleep on the couch, OK? Goodnight."

"I'll do my best. G'night. Love you."

Kurt lays there until his legs feel capable of supporting his weight once more, then moves to his bedroom. He tries to sleep, but his dick has other opinions.

He sighs loudly and shoves his hands under the waist band of his pyjama pants. Fisting roughly at his cock, he pictures one of his go-to fantasies.

He's on his stomach, arms outstretched and tied to the bedpost with silk scarves. A faceless stranger crawls on the bed behind him, kisses down his back, muttering softly under his breath, so beautiful, want you, need you, love you. His hands grab at his ass cheeks, spreading them apart then licking over his hole. Pressing in. Enough to leave him writhing on the sheets, pushing back for more, but not enough to finish him off. Finally, finally, the dark haired man replaces his tongue with one finger, then two. While he pumps in and out of Kurt, stretching him wide and hitting that spot right there, he kisses him with full pink lips, then he asks, "you ready for my cock, baby?" Kurt nods and looks into those brown eyes. "I want to feel you inside me."

Kurt's grip tightens around his cock. Each stroke becomes shorter, more desperate, until his muscles seize and his back arches off the bed and he comes with a whimper that sounds ominously like Blaine.

When his brains congeals back from it's previous mushy state, he realizes what he did. 

Fantasizing about your therapist. Congratulations, Kurt, you could not possibly be more cliché.

Loose-limbed and drowsy, he changes his pyjama pants and sinks back onto the bed. Just before he drifts off, he chalks the experience up to pent-up sexual frustration and promises not to let it happen again.

\--

It happens three more times in the week before his next session. Each time, he shamefully peels off his soiled garments and berates himself. Anyone but him. Think about the fucking plumber if you have to. Just not. Him.

"Kurt?"

He's jolted back into reality. Right. Blaine's office. "Sorry, zoned out. What were you saying?"

Blaine shoots him a concerned look before repeating his question. "Can you tell me a bit about your first sexual encounter?"

"Do I have to?"

"Of course not. But I'm not going to ask you questions if I don't think they're going to help." He doesn't sound irritated or upset.

"Ok. But can I ask you a question first?" When Blaine doesn't dissent, he carries on. "Is it really that great? Sex, I mean. I feel like we've all been conditioned by society to expect it. We have it because we're supposed to, not because we truly want it."

Blaine's silent as he mulls over what Kurt said. "Have you considered that you might be asexual?"

Kurt had. He'd looked it up online sometime between his second and third boyfriend, but the definition just didn't seem to suit him. "Do you think I am?"

"I asked you first," Blaine counters, rather childlike. They laugh. 

Kurt tells him about his research, and how he came to the conclusion that no, he wasn't asexual. He wants sex. He's just stuck. 

"Now back to my question."

Blaine leans back in his seat and taps his foot against the floor. "Sex can be great," he says finally, carefully watching Kurt for a reaction. "It's opening yourself up to a whole new level of intimacy, and that can be pretty damn scary, if you're not ready for it."

Kurt thinks it over. 

"Can you answer my question?"

"Sure." Kurt goes way back to the last days of high school, trying to remember that warm day under the bleachers. "He was a bit of a jock, trapped deep inside the closet. Hell, he probably still is. It was the week before graduation. I was reading outside, enjoying the weather and he came up to me. He found a spot no one could see and we…" he pauses and takes a breath. You're an adult, dammit. Just spit it out. "He went down on me."

"And you enjoyed it?"

"Mostly I was shocked. But yeah. I liked it."

"And is it safe to assume you masturbate?"

Kurt chokes on the air. Suddenly the room feels much too hot, and he tugs at the collar of his shirt. 

"I-I-I- yes. Yes."

Blaine leans forward and pours Kurt a cup of water from the pitcher resting on the table between them. It's clearly been sitting out all day, but Kurt downs it without complaint.

"Do you want me to continue with these questions?"

"Let's get it over with."

Blaine consults his notebook. "Do you fantasize about what you've already done- that is, giving or receiving hand jobs or oral sex- or what you'd like to do?"

"What I'd like to do," Kurt says quickly. When Blaine begins to ask for clarification, Kurt cuts him off. "As in, anal sex."

"Any particular fantasies that stick out?"

Suddenly Kurt notices the most interesting piece of lint on his jeans and focuses on picking it off. 

"I wasn't really expecting an answer." He checks his watch. "Let's leave it there for today. How's the musical shaping up?"

Kurt perks up, sitting up straight and leaning in to the conversation. "Should I start with our tone-deaf Roxie, or the love triangle between Billie Flynn, Velma, and Fred Casely?"

Blaine's eyebrows shoot up. "Sounds scandalous."

"It could be a better drama than the show itself."

Blaine walks Kurt out to the waiting room, where they part with a friendly handshake. There's another woman in the horrid blue chairs, flipping through a magazine. She smiles and rises for her appointment, but Kurt can't help but notice that Blaine's smile seems forced as he and the patient walk into his office.

\--

It doesn't mean anything, he tells himself. Just because he likes you more than another client doesn't mean he wants to jump your bones. Maybe he doesn't even like you that much, and you just can't tell. You're paying him to be sympathetic and interested in you. And he probably already has a boyfriend. Someone who has heaps of sex with him, whenever he wants it.

"Hey! Watch where you're putting those pins!"

"Sorry."

Kurt pulls the pin cushion from his wrist and stands back, observing his work. The fabric is pinned unevenly and the fit is atrocious. His model (one of the chorus girls, as their Velma has once again refused to show up) taps her foot impatiently, but he can't blame her; he's kept her here for hours, constantly poking her with pins while his mind wanders. He'll have to start this all over again, anyways, meaning another all night-er at the theatre.

"You can go," he says sadly, resigning himself to a long night alone. 

The only blessing is his complete inability to fantasize about anything. There's no room in his brain for anything other than costumes, and he spends the hours slaving over the sewing machine until he collapses on the work table into a dreamless sleep.

The rest of his week goes similarly: wake up, go for a run, grab coffee, then work until the director kicks him out, or he falls asleep in his office.

The play is only a couple weeks away and there's still so much to do. Half the costumes are a work in progress, the other half have rips and tears, and the only shoes that fit into the budget keep breaking off at the heel. He considers skipping his appointment with Blaine today, using the extra time to finish off more work, but he knows he needs this to save his sanity.

\--

"I thought we could try something new today."

That much is obvious from the second Kurt walks into the office. Blaine's already sitting on his usual chair, but his back is resting against one armrest, his legs hooked over the other. His jacket is laying neglected on his desk, and his shoes are placed neatly on the floor. Music plays lightly over the computer speakers and the pitcher of water is now holding something pink.

"Are you going to get me drunk and ply the answers from me?"

Following Blaine's lead, he toes off his shoes and sits cross-legged in the chair. 

Blaine smiles. "Not quite. It's just a Shirley Temple. My actual plan is to speed along the adjustment process. It's obvious you're not as comfortable here as I'd like, which makes for less efficient sessions."

"Ah. So lull me into a sense of security, then pounce when my defences are down. That was a joke," he adds, wiping the frenzied look off Blaine's face. He pours himself a drink to show he's on board with the plan.

"I want to talk a bit more in depth about your exes. Tell me what you liked about them, or their annoying habits that drove you crazy."

Kurt giggles at the promise of gossip. It takes him a while to warm up, but when he gets going, he can't shut up. He talks about his first boyfriend's nicotine addiction, his second's refusal to read anything other than Proust, and the time he walked in on his third boyfriend balls deep in his first. 

But there were good times. Dates at the theatre and mornings in bed, cuddling and reading together. 

"Were you ever in love?"

Kurt sets down his drink. "I don't- No. They never gave me the chance."

Blaine starts his next question tentatively. "And your fantasies," Kurt nods, indicating it's ok for him to continue. "Are they predominantly romantic in nature?"

"Yes. They're," he falters slightly, but carries on, "very romantic. Um, candles, kisses. The usual."

"There are no 'usual' fantasies." Blaine deadpans.

Kurt concedes. "True enough. But they're not so vanilla." Blaine cocks his eyebrow, but the blush creeping up onto his cheekbones must be his imagination. 

"Care to elaborate?"

Kurt overpowers his natural urge to say no and forces the words out. "I think about scarves. A lot."

Kurt's sure he's not imagining the blush now. It's worked its way across the bridge of Blaine's nose and down his neck. He holds his notebook up higher, trying to hide it.

"S-so. Is it a control thing? Being overpowered?"

The more flustered Blaine becomes, the more Kurt finds himself eager to speak.

"Not being overpowered. It's about trusting someone. Giving myself over to them and knowing they'll take care of me. Letting them use me however they want, and vice versa. I can't imagine having sex with someone and not trusting them completely."

Blaine pushes his slipping glasses up his nose and jots a few notes down. "Good. This is great, Kurt. You really made a great progression here today."

It's a lot easier to talk to someone when you haven't been jerking off to thoughts of them, Kurt thinks, but he congratulates Blaine on his admittedly helpful idea and revels in the clammy texture of Blaine's hand as they end their session. With one last uncharacteristic display of openness, he poses a question he's been lingering on for some time.

"Hey, Blaine. I'm not sure if this violates some sort of doctor-patient code of conduct, but I was wondering if you wanted to see the show. I've got a few spare tickets, and while I can't guarantee it's going to be any good, I'd say there's a very high chance of a cat fight breaking out on stage."

There's a tense moment as Blaine contemplates the offer and Kurt worries he's overstepped his boundaries. Just because they have a lot in common doesn't mean Blaine is going to be willing to compromise his reputation and see a client outside the office. He'd give anything to take the offer back.

"Officially, I have to say no."

Kurt doesn't let his disappointment show, but he feels his heart sinking.

"But if I was in the neighbourhood that night and I happened by a theatre playing one of my favourite musicals, no one could blame me for stopping in."

"Well then I think you'll find a seat saved in the event of such an unlikely coincidence."

Kurt waits until he's out on the street to squeal.

\--

Kurt bounces around the kitchen, humming lightly under his breath as he mixes from-scratch cake batter with a whisk. Rachel watches him, bemused.

"Someone's in a good mood tonight."

Before responding, Kurt ladles the batter into a cake pan. "There's this guy."

Rachel's face brightens and she presses for details. Kurt's not sure how much to divulge; he loves her, but her big mouth could land Blaine in a lot of trouble. He keeps the information vague, revealing only what he has to in order to keep Rachel satisfied.

"It's not like we're even a thing, though," he admits sadly. "He's just going to see the play. I'm not sure if he's even interested. Or single."

"Hey, if he's going out of his way to watch a frankly questionable theatre troupe perform Chicago, I'd say that's a pretty big indicator that he's interested. But-"

"But what?" Kurt really doesn't need the small bubble of hope rising in his chest to burst.

"I just don't want to see you hurt again."

"He's not like that," he says defensively, but he knows he can't be sure. They've only spent a few hours together, and he's paying for Blaine's empathy. But that doesn't change his gut feeling. "It's different this time. He understands, and he wants to help. He wouldn't just leave me."

"I hope you're right." She doesn't look convinced, but her standards for Kurt's potential boyfriends are higher even than his own. 

"Or maybe you could just be friends first?"

"I don't want to be just friends." But wait. What if Blaine wants to be friends, and nothing more? Maybe he thought the invitation was purely platonic. He can't imagine ever being his friend, and only his friend. He'd like to think it could happen, but he's not strong enough. He wants to hold him and kiss him and maybe one day, if they ever find a way through Kurt's blockage, they could really truly be together. Anything else would hurt to much.

Then he has an idea. It's stupid and risky and probably a direct result of the wine he's been ingesting since returning home from Blaine's office, but maybe… He remembers the way Blaine had blushed when Kurt spoke of his fantasies. The way his glasses slipped down his nose, and the clammy grasp of their handshake goodbye. But he has to be sure.

He runs into his room and digs through the piles of clothes and boxes in his closet. For the first time in his life, he's glad he's never had the heart to give away old clothes. Buried deep and neglected for years is the pair of skinny jeans he used to wear with pride. With a bit of sucking in and a lot of wiggling, Kurt manages to button them closed, then checks his reflection in the mirror.

Yeah, Kurt thinks to himself. Still got it.  
\--

Kurt can't help but smile when Quinn whistles at him the next week.

"Looking good, Mr. Hummel. You got plans after this?"

"Something like that," he replies with a wink, then walks into Blaine's office.

It's set up like last week again, minus the pitcher. The light music, the discarded suit jacket. It'll be easier to talk, Kurt notes. 

"Hey, Kurt." Blaine takes in Kurt's outfit, the skin-tight white jeans and low cut v-neck shirt so different than his usual therapy attire. He doesn't comment on it, but Kurt sees his eyes linger on his body. A good start.

Kurt settles into his chair and starts the conversation without waiting for Blaine. "I want to talk about my fantasies."

His words aren't as confident as he'd practiced in his head, but Blaine nods and grabs his notepad a bit too quickly.

"Good. Good. Kurt, this is another great step forward."

He waits for Blaine to settle and closes his eyes, conjuring the images that flash behind his mind late at night. 

"It starts the same. Always. We're always on this big bed," Kurt starts, his voice breathy. "In a nice room I don't recognize. He-this faceless guy-" Well, not so faceless anymore, but Kurt's not going to say it. "He kisses me like he can't stand the thought of letting me go."

He pauses, giving Blaine time to ask a question, or give input, but he doesn't. Kurt's glad. It'll be easier to do this in one go.

"Then I'm rolled over, and tied to the bedpost with silk scarves, like I mentioned last week. He kisses each wrist before he wraps the fabric around it, tying it tightly but always checking that it's not uncomfortable. When I'm where he wants me, he sits back and just looks. He tells me I'm beautiful, and God, I really get off on that. It's probably pretty shallow of me," he adds self consciously. 

"Anyways, when he can't keep to himself any longer he kisses me everywhere. Across my shoulders, down my back, that spot on my neck," his hand rises subconsciously to the sensitive skin right where his neck meets his shoulder and sees Blaine following the movement with glimmering eyes. "He works his way down my back until he's at my ass. And I don't know how it really feels, to have someone's mouth on me like that, but I love it. Picturing his tongue swirling over my hole with just enough pressure to keep me begging for more. Pressing in just the tip of his tongue, then pulling out straight away. He keeps going until I'm writhing on the sheets, grinding down on the mattress just to get a little relief."

He pauses to look at his psychologist.

Blaine is staring intently down at his notebook, but the red on his cheeks, more prominent than last week, gives him away. When Kurt's been silent too long and Blaine has to look up and address him, Kurt sees the wetness of his lips and the shine in his eyes. It affects him in a way he'd never imagined. Making someone blush so deeply, just with his words. It's a sexual power he's never experienced.

Blaine clears his throat and tries to carry on calmly. "Kurt, has anyone ever treated you like that before?"

Kurt remembers his past attempts at sex; starting well enough, but always with an air of frustration that grew and grew until the other walked away, leaving Kurt on the bed, alone and dejected. Kurt shakes his head to answer Blaine's question. Blaine opens his mouth, but seems to think better of it and closes it. He motions for Kurt to continue.

"So," Kurt takes a second to find his place in the story, working in more detail. "After that, he fucks me. Slow at first, just stretching me out. I can feel him struggling to keep the pace, like he just can't wait to be completely inside me. He tells me how great I am, how tight I feel, and grips his fingers hard into my waist. Sometimes I swear I can feel it. 

"When I'm ready, he really starts. It should probably hurt, but it never does. He pushes into me as fast as he can, and I can't do anything but take it, my arms still tied up above my head. I always imagined that I'd be loud. Moans and cries of pleasure that I just can't keep in would fill the room, driving him totally crazy. He does his best to fuck the noises out of me, making me scream so loud the whole city can hear it.

"He comes first. Always. Pulls out and comes on my ass with my name on his lips. God, it's been so long since someone's said my name like that.

"There's enough slack in the scarves that he's able to roll me onto my back. I'm so close but he wants to draw it out as much as possible, touching me everywhere but where I need. He drags his finger down my sides so lightly the hairs on my arms raise, then moves along my neck, circles my nipple. And of course, I'm tied up, so I can't do anything but wait, I try thrusting up, hoping to rub against his leg to finish myself off, but he laughs and moves out of my way. Finally, just before I think I'm going to cry from need, he goes down on me, sucking me off like there's no tomorrow. That's a feeling I know well, the warmth of a mouth on me, but this guy is just- he's amazing. He knows exactly what I like: running his tongue along my head, licking into my slit, lightly kneading my balls. When I thrust into his mouth, he takes it without a problem. So I fuck him like that, sliding in and out of his lips, feeling his tongue chase after my cock when I pull back. He swallows me whole, and when I come he licks off every drop." As he reaches the end of his fantasy, the reality of what he's done crashes into him. "I've never been able to say any of that out loud before. I've tried, you know, dirty talk before, but I kept stuttering and it was such a mess."

"Good," Blaine says vacantly, and Kurt starts to wonder how much he's actually absorbed. "That's- yeah. Good." They're both quiet. Kurt's thinking of something to say, anything to break the silence, when Blaine stutters out his next question. "And-and how do you see your first time going? Realistically?"

With a bit of difficulty, Kurt pulls his legs up underneath him (seriously, how did he ever manage in such tight pants?) and thinks. The idea of him having sex has always been so abstract; something to fantasize and wonder about, but never something that could actually happen. But Blaine watches Kurt expectantly, his eyes dark and cheeks still tinted red, and Kurt realizes he made him look like that, wrecked and so turned on. There's no way he's going to stop talking now.

"I'd like it to be after a really romantic dinner, or maybe a day in, just lounging around the apartment." He's never rehearsed it, but the words come to him easily. "It would be my idea. No pressure or obligations. I'd bottom, the first time. I know I'll be really nervous about it hurting, but he'd comfort me and stretch me out slowly with his fingers. We'd be face to face, too, so he could hold me when he's inside me. After that," he shrugs, "I wouldn't know what to expect."

Blaine seems content with his answer, nodding and writing down a long note. "I think we should leave it here for today."

"What?" Kurt starts to worry. Did he go too far? Is Blaine going to ask him to find another psychologist? Shit, he should've known what a bad idea this is.

"I think you've made a huge leap forward; really shattered that barrier. Might as well end it now, there's no point wasting the rest of the day." He says all of this too fast, and Kurt can't make any sense of his logic. "I'll tell Quinn not to charge you for today's session. I'll do that right now, actually."

He all but runs out of the room before Kurt can say anything else. 

A wonderful, terrible idea hits Kurt. Knowing he doesn't have much time, he darts his hand out to the coffee table and grabs Blaine's notebook. He flips to the last page and scans through the nearly illegible handwriting. A few phrases jump out at him, though. 

his type???

great ass

dirty talk!!

fuck him slow

and lastly, circled multiple times,

make love

Before he can try to find deeper meaning in what he's seen, he hears Blaine's footsteps walking towards him, and he throws the book back where he found it.

"Ok, that's all sorted!" Blaine chirps as he steps into the office. "Thanks for a good session Kurt. I'll see you next week."

Kurt's so relieved that Blaine still wants him as his client that he forgets to ask if he's still going to the play, but he guesses Blaine's inability to be in the same room as him answers his question.

\---

The afternoon before the first performance is a nightmare. The drama in the main cast has spilled into the chorus, leaving one dancer in the hospital from a debilitating high-kick, and another locked in the women's bathroom and possibly suffering a mental breakdown.

Kurt downs his umpteenth cup of instant coffee, disgusting but potent, and slaves over the sewing machine. He can hear the director shouting at whoever's on stage, not that he can blame her; they still haven't made it through the whole play without something going wrong. 

Eventually the last stitch is sewn and the cast, now smaller than they had once predicted, runs through the play without a problem. Kurt has to give it to them. They spend all their time bickering, but they somehow manage to pull out flawless performances. He just hopes they can keep it up throughout all their shows. 

In contrast, the hour before the performance is eerily silent. There's no yelling, no open attempts at sabotage; just heads bowed in thought or prayer and the nervous drum of fingers on the counter. As the minutes tick away and the group organizes themselves behind the curtain, Kurt feels butterflies fluttering low in his stomach and knows it's not stage fright. His role is minuscule, just replacing the actor who had (rightfully) quit his role of jury member early after realizing what he had gotten himself into. No, what's doing this is Blaine. Anxiously wondering if he'll make an appearance. Kurt had set aside a ticket for him at the box office, but never had the chance to remind him. He shuffles his feet as the curtains open and forces himself not to peek into the audience. He'll find out, one way or another, at the end of the show. 

Overlooking an incident with a broken shoe heel and the preceding domino effect of tumbling dancers, the show goes off as well as they had rehearsed. He bypasses curtain call to change out of his costume and makes it to the reception just as the audience begins to stream out. Most of them are still laughing about the falling girls, but Kurt's not paying attention; he glances over each smiling face, biting his lip anxiously.

"Kurt!"

Kurt spins in place quickly, a wide smile breaking over his face as he sees Blaine walking towards him. They stumble awkwardly over the proper greeting. Kurt's hand is half extended to shake Blaine's, while he aims for a light touch to Kurt's shoulder. They laugh it off.

"Kurt, that was incredible!" Kurt knows he's laying it on a bit thick, but he appreciates the enthusiasm. "I especially enjoyed the stunt team during Cell Block Tango. A masterful addition. But I am a bit upset I didn't see a cat fight break out onstage like you'd promised."

"If you're looking for drama I could take you backstage," Kurt grins. "I can't imagine what kind of emotional warfare is going on back there."

"Sounds tempting, but I have another proposal. Let me take you out for coffee tonight. It sounds like you could really use a cup."

Kurt can't help but swoon when Blaine places a hand on his back and guides him outside. They walk to a small café on the corner that Kurt's never been to. Blaine holds the door open for Kurt and pays for his espresso when Kurt cringes at the prices. As they settle into the stools at the bar, Kurt turns the conversation to Blaine.

"I feel like I hardly know you. How did you get into psychology?"

Blaine sets his cup down and smiles guiltily. "It's not a great story, actually. It was a compromise between my father and I. He wanted me to become a lawyer or a doctor, something prestigious. I wanted to study dramatic arts and become a stage actor. I was damn good, too, but my family outweighed my love of being onstage. I chose psychology, frankly, because I heard the class load was light, and I wanted something that would allow me time for extracurriculars. That lasted three years before I had to drop everything and focus on schoolwork." He spins his cup by the handle twice before picking it up again and sipping at coffee. "But don't get me wrong, I love what I do." He looks pointedly at Kurt. "I've always wanted to help people, but I always thought I'd be doing it through a different medium."

Kurt nods and kicks playfully at Blaine's foot under the table. "Well, I don't have a lot of experience in the field, but I think you're a great psychologist."

Blaine waves his hand, dismissing the compliment, but Kurt presses. "No really. You're so good at what you're doing, Blaine." After waging an internal battle, he reaches his hand out to grab Blaine's. Blaine looks down at his hand then back up at Kurt before squeezing at Kurt's fingers lightly. 

"Thank you."

They stay like that all night, just talking and earning glares from the barista since neither want to move away to pay for another drink. When midnight sneaks up on them, she delights in kicking them on to the street

They stand in the cold wind, hands still clenched, waiting for the other to move first. Finally, Blaine points east with his free hand. "I'm that way."

Kurt points north. "That's me. Thanks for tonight. I had a great time." He pulls his hand free only to have Blaine step in closer. Kurt can feel his breath on his neck and the warmth from his body. When Kurt doesn't protest, he moves in again, resting a hand on Kurt's waist, his fingers brushing against the soft material of his shirt. Kurt's veins are on fire, shooting white-hot blood through each limb and a shiver runs up his spine. Blaine's eyes focus on his and Kurt can't look away from the honey brown he's seen so many times in his sleep. He raises his hand up to Blaine's cheek, stroking his thumb against the defined bone. Blaine licks his lips and pushes himself on to his toes, eyes closing. 

A bus drives past them, shooting a blast of air their way and sending them stumbling backwards.

"I should go," Kurt says quickly. He pauses a fraction of a second, giving Blaine time to stop him.

But he doesn't. "Yeah. Yeah. Goodnight."

\--

Kurt lays in bed, his body shaking with espresso and butterflies and the chill of staying out in the wind for too long. His mind is just as difficult to control as it races through the events of the past week. The words written down in Blaine's notebook. Make love. Is that what Kurt needs? All his life he's been worrying about sex, or a quick fuck. Making love always seemed like a ridiculous concept, a euphemism used by squeamish parents, like love is something that can be handled and shaped. If Kurt could make love, conjure it up from nowhere, he wouldn't be in this damn situation. But maybe he needs to actually experience love for the phrase to make sense. Like someone would have the patience to fall in love with a 25 year old virgin. 

What stands out most in Kurt's mind is the hastily scribbled fuck him slow. As if Blaine was giving himself instructions. 

Kurt rolls out of bed and makes his way down the dark hallway to Rachel's room. Ignoring her snores, he crawls up next to her and shakes her.

"Rach. Wake up."

She rolls over and pulls the sheets over her head. Kurt would feel guilty about waking her at three in the morning if she hadn't done it to him countless times before. 

"Come on, Rach." He tugs the sheets down and forces her over. "I need to talk to you."

Rachel mumbles something unintelligible and with exaggerated effort opens her eyes. "Wha'?"

"I think he wants me."

"'Course he does. Yer hot." She tries to roll over again but Kurt stops her.

"But I think he wants to date me. And fall in love with me. And I think he wants to wait as long as I need him to before having sex with me."

"'S'good." Her eyelids begin to droop.

"Yeah." Kurt concedes. "But he didn't kiss me. He could've. But he didn't."

"Try again." She drops her head heavily back onto the pillow and mumbles from the side of her mouth. "Make'm need to kiss you." 

Kurt brings his hand up and runs a finger along his lips, remembering how Blaine's mouth had been so close he could almost feel it. "Do you think that'll work?"

Rachel's eyes are closed and her mouth open, breathing heavily. Kurt's not sure if she's faking it or actually fell asleep that quickly, but he doesn't wake her. "I'm sleeping here, kay?" He whispers and settles down onto the pillows, waiting for exhaustion to pull him under.  
\--

The weekend goes by in a haze of sequins and music and sleep deprivation. The musical comes to a close with record-breaking box office sales and several actors blacklisted from the theatre. When Monday morning rolls around, he’s just as relieved to be free of that show as he is nervous to see Blaine again. He was hoping Blaine might call, or show up at another performance, or anything to let him know what happened that night was OK, but he kept his distance. 

He takes Rachel’s advice to heart and gives himself one more chance to win Blaine over. If that doesn’t work, then Kurt will drop it. He’ll carry on with the therapy without any more advances until he feels ready to go out and start another relationship. Or Blaine gives up on him.

He pushes the thought aside and heads to the clinic. His jeans, while not as tight as last week’s, make his ass look fantastic, something he’s sure Blaine will appreciate, and his shirt’s collar rests low enough to reveal the dips of his collarbones. He might not be able to enjoy sex like most people, but he’s certainly nailed seduction. 

Quinn waves him through to Blaine’s office without commenting on his outfit. He wonders if she picked up on anything strange last week, with Kurt dressed like he was and Blaine cancelling the session so early.

The relaxed atmosphere of the past two weeks is gone, but Blaine still smiles earnestly when Kurt walks in. He guesses there’s no point trying to make him feel more comfortable now that they’ve spent time together outside the office. He really couldn’t be any more at ease around Blaine. 

Kurt doesn’t wait for Blaine to direct today’s conversation before sinking into his seat and opening his mouth. “Do you like riding?”

“Sorry?”

“Riding. As in getting fucked from on top. I think about it a lot. Especially on a chair like this, you know?” He pats the leather armrest and waits for Blaine, dumbstruck, to catch on and grab his notebook before diving in. 

“I think about how it would play out. I’d be making out with this guy, whoever, in the living room or something, on a big arm chair. So I’m straddling his lap and things are getting really heated; he’s sucking on my neck and I’m grinding down on him. Then his arms sneak around my back and down my pants, grabbing me by my ass to give himself leverage and press up against me. And it’s good, but it could be better, so we shuck off our clothes and I climb back on top of him. He fingers me for a bit and I rock down onto them. In this fantasy, I’m the one setting the pace, and god, I’m so fucking hot for it.”

He chances a look across the table. Blaine’s staring open-mouthed, notebook resting unopened in his lap, pen slipping from his fingers. Any appearance of professionalism is gone. Kurt tilts his head as though he’s lost in thought, consciously revealing the long line of his neck and the curve of his shoulder. 

“It’s not long before I need more. I reach down and grab his cock, dragging it around my hole at first. I ease the tip in, but no further, teasing myself and him. That doesn’t last long, though. I inch down until I’ve taken all of him and don’t even give myself time to adjust before I’m lifting myself up. His arms reach back for my ass and pull at my cheeks, spreading me out like he’s displaying my stretched hole to the world. He fucks up as I sink down, hitting my prostate and making me cry out. It’s rough, and I have to grab on to the back of the chair for balance, but it’s not enough.” 

His voice cracks despite himself, and he can feel his cock twitch in his jeans. He’s not sure if it’s the fantasy or the audience that turns him on more.

“I keep asking for more, needing him to fuck me harder, trying to take him deeper. When he’s about to come he grabs my cock and works it over, pumping in time with each fuck. He tells me what a good little slut I am. That really does it for me. I don’t know why. I guess it’s because I’m really the opposite. So he says it again. Says I’m taking it like a whore, and how much he loves fucking my greedy little asshole. I tell him,” Kurt looks directly into the blown-black eyes of his psychologist. “‘That’s right. I’m your slut. Only yours.’ He comes right after, shooting-“

“Kurt.”

Kurt’s a bit disoriented by the interruption, blinking a few times to readjust himself to reality. He can feel the warmth in his face and the stiffness of his fingers from where he’s been clutching into the chair. “Yeah?”

“You can’t- you can’t be my client anymore.”

His stomach sinks down to his knees. Oh god. He’s gone way too far. He misread all the signs and now he’s practically harassing Blaine in his office. If there was ever a time for the earth to open up at his feet, this would be it. He takes a deep breath to stop tears of embarrassment. “OK. I’ll go.”

As he pushes himself out of the chair, Blaine lunges forward and grabs his wrist. “Stay.” 

Kurt looks questioningly up at Blaine. Their eyes lock again, and he can feel his pulse pounding in his cheeks with the intensity of Blaine’s gaze. His breath hitches.

“Blaine, wha-?”

“You can’t be my client because what I’m about to do would be so, sounethical.” He steps over the table and closes the distance, his mouth crashing into Kurt’s.

Kurt’s shocked still, eyes wide and mind reeling as Blaine cups Kurt’s cheek and presses his lips insistently. Blaine steps in impossibly closer, his body aligning against his, and his erection noticeable just under Kurt’s hip. 

That’s when Kurt’s brain kicks in. He wraps his arms around Blaine’s waist and he kisses him back for all he’s worth, lips digging into teeth and tongues swirling. No semblance of technique or finesse; just desperation and a need for more. Blaine spins them around and collapses onto the chair, pulling Kurt down so he’s straddling him, just like he’d been talking about. 

Kurt’s hands bracket Blaine’s head, gripping tight to the top of chair, balancing himself as he grinds down against Blaine. “You sure?” 

“I should be asking you,” Blaine teases, then reaches down the side and pulls the lever, reclining the seat and bringing up the leg rest. 

Kurt leans down for an answer, his mouth meeting Blaine’s again, his tongue licking playfully at the other’s lips until they part and allow him in. Blaine’s hands slide into Kurt’s back pockets, kneading lightly at his ass and pushing his hips down. Their erections line up just right, making Kurt gasp against Blaine’s mouth. He rolls his hips again in a long, smooth motion, drawing out the feeling of his cock rubbing against Blaine’s. Blaine’s head drops onto the chair with a heavy thud and Kurt takes a moment just to look. He’s the reason Blaine’s hair is working free of its gel, sticking up at odd angles. He’s the reason Blaine is flushed red all the way down to his collar bones, and small, cut off groans slip past his mouth. Kurt kisses down his exposed neck as he continues the movements, finding his pulse point and sucking until purple marks blossom under his lips. 

The familiar tightening in his stomach and balls slow him down. “Blaine,” he whimpers, a noise that makes Blaine groan and thrust up against him, “Blaine, hold on. Gonna come.”

Blaine buries his face into Kurt’s neck and hitches up again, breathing hot against his skin. “Then come.”

That’s all it takes. Kurt seizes for a second before relief washes over him, spilling into his underwear and biting his cheek to stop himself from crying out. His head feels lighter than air, his limbs boneless. When his vision straightens, he sees Blaine staring up at him with lust-glazed eyes.

“Fuck, you look so good when you come.” 

“Let’s see what you look like, then.” Kurt sits up, resting his weight on Blaine’s thighs. He tugs at the other’s pants and slips his hands under his underwear, revelling at the feeling of Blaine’s cock, heavy and warm and hard. Blaine breathes out a barely audible ‘yes’ and Kurt moves down his length, his fingers sprawling to feel as much of him as possible. Blaine lifts his hips and Kurt drags the last layer of clothing down, tucking the waistband of Blaine’s boxer-briefs under his balls. He only just thinks to drag his shirt up his chest.

“Kurt,” Blaine begs, pulling his attention back to his cock. Kurt grasps it and pumps it quickly, deciding he’s drawn it out long enough. Blaine screws his eyes shut and thrusts into the tight fist, coming quietly on his stomach and Kurt’s hand. Kurt stares in awe as Blaine runs a hand through his hair and pushes himself up onto one arm. 

Kurt can’t help but lean in for another kiss, chaste and light, only to have Blaine deepen it once more as he wraps his hand around the back of his neck, tilting his head just right. With an impressive amount of strength, Kurt pulls himself away. 

“Blaine, you have another client in,” he checks the clock. “Two minutes ago.”

Blaine groans and covers his face in his hands. “Don’t make me do work.”

Kurt laughs and crawls off Blaine, painfully aware of the drying come lining his underwear. “Let’s go, Doctor Anderson.”

“Ooh. Say that again.” Blaine quirks an eyebrow. He’s beaming and looks about as happy as Kurt feels.

Kurt bats at him lightly. "Put your clothes on."

\--

 

Kurt leaves the office with the promise of ‘I’ll call you’ ringing in his ears and a smile plastered to his face. He gets a few weird looks on the subway home but nothing can drag him out of this haze of euphoria and giddiness. He might as well be floating when he walks in the front door and hangs his jacket on the coat rack.

He hasn’t even crossed the kitchen before Rachel starts shouting.

“Oh my god, Kurt! Your psychologist? Really?”

He staggers back, caught off guard. “What? How did you know?” 

Even a handful of inches shorter, she manages to somehow glare down at him, arms crossed. She nods towards the mirror. 

He understands the looks on the subway. His hair, which he had only lightly brushed down with his fingers, is sticking almost straight up on his head. Light hickeys, only faint red dots but still noticeable, mark his neck and shoulders, and creases line his shirt, the fabric abused and twisted at Blaine’s hand. He looks like sex.

“I was going to tell you…” he tries lamely.

“So tell me now.”

Kurt shifts awkwardly on his feet. “I actually really need to shower first.”

“Fine. But don’t think you can get away from me.”

He couldn’t if he tried. 

Kurt stands under the burning spray of water, cleaning off the dry come and trying to figure out how this all happened. For Rachel and himself. How, in just over a month, he went from sitting nervously in that armchair to jacking Blaine off in it.

He shuts off the water and dries himself off. The hickeys have faded now, and the scent of Blaine diluted. It’s amazing how quickly the tangible proof of what happened between them disappears. He questions if Blaine will actually call him, remembering the night at the café, or if he’ll just wash Kurt away.

Don’t be ridiculous. He shakes his head and wraps the towel around his waist. Blaine will call and they’ll figure out what happens next.

Rachel’s waiting in the living room, curled up on the couch and clutching a steaming mug. There’s one for Kurt, tea, which he grimaces at, but she tells him he needs to rehydrate. 

As he tells the story (glossing over quite a few details), Rachel’s face softens. She nods sympathetically when Kurt reveals how he struggled to get Blaine out of his mind, dreaming of brown eyes dark hair during the night and counting down the days until their next session during the day. When he gets to the night of the play, she can’t contain a squeak of joy.

Thankfully, he’s absolved from going on about today’s appointment by his phone. He’s sure she can figure it out by herself, anyways. He excuses himself and runs into the bedroom. He takes a deep breath. Play it cool.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Kurt. I got your number from the database. Hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine.” Kurt squeals internally. Blaine called him. Blaine called him and wants to talk and he feels 16 again.

“I was going to wait to call, so I didn’t seem so eager, but,” Blaine laughs lightly, making Kurt’s stomach swoop, “I don’t want to wait to see you again.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it because I’ve been feeling pretty eager to see you, too.”

“Look, I was wondering,” Kurt can hear Blaine’s smile through the receiver, “if you wanted to grab coffee tomorrow? I don’t have any clients on Tuesday and I’d love to spend a full day with you for once.”

Kurt has to pull the phone away from his face as a squawk threatens to slip out of his throat. All day with Blaine. Just the two of them. Together. All day.

“That sounds-” glorious, perfect, magnificent- “great.”

They plan to meet at a small, cheap, café near Kurt’s around noon, then go from there. When Blaine hangs up with a flirty ‘see you tomorrow,’ Kurt drops his phone on the bed and falls after it. 

—

When Kurt walks into the coffee shop the next day, heart pounding and hands shaking, he sees Blaine already seated at a booth, pushing a styrofoam cup around the table.

He loves seeing Blaine out of his work clothes. The suit is replaced with a red cardigan and a simple stripped henley underneath. Instead of slacks he wears dark jeans cuffed at the ankle. The glasses are gone too, and while Kurt has nothing against them, he likes Blaine’s face unobscured. He orders quickly and slides into the seat across from Blaine. 

If he was struggling with what to say to someone whose dick he had previously held in his hand, he needn’t have worried. Blaine apparently had something he needed off his chest.

“I apologize if I’m coming on strong, but I want to say a few things just so everything’s out in the open.”

Kurt nods slowly, unsure what to expect.

“I wanted this since you first walked into my office. You were - you are - so stunning. Not just the way you look, but what you say, and how you say it. Even those few minutes you were on stage took my breath away.

“I knew, about two weeks in, why you’d never had sex. But I was afraid that if I told you, you wouldn’t need me anymore, and having those sessions would just be an excuse to spend more time with you.”

Kurt watches as Blaine’s hand slides across the table, fingers tangling into his own. He knows he needs to say something, anything, but his heart is lodged in his throat.

Blaine smiles reassuringly. “Kurt, I think you need someone to love you. You said yourself how important trust is.”

Kurt can feel himself holding in his breath. Does this mean-?

“I want to be with you. If you’ll let me.”

A wash of relief and excitement falls over him. “OK,” Kurt giggles, suddenly reverting back to his teenage self. It’s funny how Blaine has that effect on him. He brings Blaine’s hand up to his lips for a quick kiss. It’s not as eloquent or romantic, but it’s all he trusts himself to do at the moment.

They go through three more cups of coffee each before they leave the café hand in hand, walking in step around the neighbourhood. There’s a comfortable silence between them as they soak in their togetherness, but a question eats at the back of Kurt’s brain. They turn in to a park, the nascent green buds peeking out of the tops of the trees in the warm spring. 

“What if I’m never able to have sex?”

Blaine shrugs. “Then we won’t have sex.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is.” Blaine leads them to a park bench. He sits with his legs tucked under his body so he can fully face Kurt. “Lots of couples never have penetrative sex. It’s not a big deal.”

Kurt bites at his lip, unsure. It’s one thing for Blaine to say he doesn’t want sex now, but will he still feel the same three months from now? A year?

Obviously Blaine can sense Kurt’s apprehension. “Kurt, my first time sucked. It was awful. I don’t want you to regret yours like I do mine. If you’re ready, and I’m still in the picture, I promise I’ll make it so special for you.”

Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand and mouths ‘thank you,’ too overcome to actually vocalize. He’s never had a boyfriend (Kurt savours the word. Boyfriendboyfriendboyfriend) so considerate.

“And even if we just do what we did yesterday, I’ll be more than OK because that was hot.”

Kurt scoffs and rises off the bench, pulling Blaine up, too. “I can’t believe you totally ruined the moment.” Kurt walks fast, taking long strides off the paved path and towards a cluster of trees and bushes.

Blaine’s nearly jogging to keep up. “I didn’t ruin ruin the moment, did I? Because I’m serious. I thought I was going to pass out that’s how hot- where are we going? Kur-oomp.”

Kurt pins him to a large Willow. The low hanging branches thread through his hair, and he probably pushed Blaine a bit too hard against the trunk, but there’s only one thought he’s paying attention to, now. “Shut up and kiss me.”  
\--

Kurt walks through the front door just after noon, shaking his hair free of snowflakes. He steps over the sleeping cat and follows the sound of metallic clanging into the kitchen where Blaine is rummaging around in a high cabinet, making a mess. He pauses at the sight of Kurt.

“I wasn’t expecting you so early.” 

Kurt kisses his cheek then leans against the cluttered counter, pushing aside a large pile of vegetables, and watches Blaine struggle to extract a large roasting pan. “Rachel’s giving vocal lessons to the triplets. I couldn’t stand the screeching. Here.” He finally takes pity on Blaine and lifts himself onto his toes. He grabs the pan with ease and sets it gently on the counter top. “What’s all this for, anyways?” 

“Because, oh loving boyfriend of mine,” Blaine says smugly, “you may have forgotten, but today is our anniversary.”

Kurt frowns and racks his brain. It’s not their real anniversary, but Blaine has a habit of commemorating the most inconsequential things. Just the other week Blaine had decorated his apartment to honour the first time Kurt deigned to clean the cat’s litterbox. “And what, exactly, are we celebrating today?”

Blaine pops a baby carrot into his mouth before answering. He’s still got that superior look on his face, like he’s revelling in knowing something that Kurt doesn’t. 

“It’s been one hundred weeks since you first stepped into my office.”

Kurt’s eyebrows raise. He knows, of course, that their two-year anniversary is only a few months away, but to think of it like this makes it seem so much more… “Wow.”

“Yeah. Wow. I was going to surprise you with dinner, but that’s a bust.”

“Hey,” Kurt places a hand soothingly over Blaine’s cheek. “I’m still pretty surprised. And as it happens, I do have a present for you.” He moves his hand back to dig in his pocket and withdraws a business card, off-white and thick, printed with bold letters and foil accents. “I’ve got five hundred back at my place. They’re supposed to be to celebrate the rising success of your practice, but I think it’s also an appropriate gift for the occasion.”

Blaine laughs and snatches the card from Kurt’s hand, looking it over. “God I really did need new cards, didn’t I?” He sets it down with a last glance and hooks his index fingers into Kurt’s belt loops, tugging him in flush. “Thank you, Kurt.” 

Kurt brushes his lips over Blaine’s, pulling back just enough to take him in. Blaine’s eyes are nearly closed and focused on Kurt’s mouth, his eyelashes fan over red cheeks. After all this time, Kurt’s never ceased to be amazed that he can do this to somebody. That he can spend every day with someone and still feel that flip in his stomach when they close in on each other. 

“I love you,” he mumbles into Blaine’s skin, then kisses him in earnest. His hands slide under Blaine’s shirt to feel the warmth under his fingertips. 

Blaine shudders and tries to pull him impossibly closer, shifting his legs apart so Kurt can slot his thigh between them. Blaine’s half hard already, but so is Kurt. He ruts up against Blaine unconsciously and mouths down his neck, stopping to suck at the pulse point just below his jaw. When Blaine moans the vibrations tickle Kurt’s lips. 

“Kurt…” Blaine works a hand into Kurt’s hair, keeping him in place. “Move in with me.”

“Mmm… when?” This is a big conversation they should probably sit down and discuss like the adults they are, but Kurt really doesn’t want to pry himself away. He runs his hands up Blaine’s sides, gathering his shirt along the way, and breaks away just long enough to toss it on the floor. He reattaches himself to Blaine’s neck while one finger runs lightly around his areola.

“Now. I mean, half your stuff’s here already, and-” he gasps when Kurt scratches lightly over his nipple “-and you’re here all the time.”

It’s true that he spends a lot of time here, Kurt thinks as Blaine grabs the hem of his shirt and throws it god knows where. Blaine’s apartment is closer to work than his own, and the customary sock drawer he’d been provided with has overflown into the rest of the dresser. Throw pillows appeared mysteriously on the couches, soy milk found its way into the fridge, and products with unpronounceable names lined the shelves in the bathroom. Rachel’s all but kicked him out, complaining about the lack of space in the apartment now that her lessons have gained traction and there always seems to be a kid running around the place.

Kurt sinks down to his knees and nuzzles into the coarse hairs that disappear under Blaine’s waistband. He undoes the button and with one finger tugs the jeans down, running a mouth over his clothed erection. Blaine’s straining against his underwear and Kurt can feel a small damp spot of pre-come in the fabric.

“Fuck, Kurt.” Blaine grips the edge of the counter with white knuckles. “Say something.”

“OK.”

“Is that ‘OK’ like ‘OK I’ll say something’, or ‘OK’ like-“

“OK, I’ll move in with you.” He sits back on his heels and looks up at his boyfriend who’s grinning so wide he threatens to pull something. He’s probably imagining what Kurt is: waking up next to each other every day, cooking breakfast together before they go to work, coming home completely exhausted but perking up when they see the other lying on the couch. They’ll be sharing a life from now on, more so than before, and it both calms and frightens him because he wants to share everything with Blaine.

With weak knees and trembling fingers Kurt rises and holds Blaine’s head in his hands. “I love you, Blaine Anderson, and I’m so excited to live together.”

“I love you, too.” Blaine whispers. He kisses Kurt lightly and waits, knowing there’s more.

Kurt takes in a deep, shaky breath. His blood is racing through his veins and his stomach feels empty. It’s not the first time he’s felt it, this weakening desire for so much more, but now it’s right. The words fall from his mouth before he knows he’s saying them. 

“Let’s go to our room.”

Blaine knows. Kurt can tell by the way Blaine’s eyes bore into his, searching for trepidation or uncertainty, but he won’t find it. Convinced, Blaine nods and steps out of the pants that have puddled around his ankles and kisses Kurt with a new intensity. There’s no restraint behind it, no intention of ever stopping. 

Kurt pulls them down the hallway, struggling to find his footing as he concentrates more on what Blaine’s doing with his tongue. Kurt’s back hits the half-open bedroom door and they stumble through, losing their balance and landing heavily on the bed. Blaine props himself up and shifts down Kurt’s torso with a chain of kisses. With one tug, he shucks off Kurt’s pants and underwear and takes a second just to look. 

“Now you, come on.” Kurt whines impatiently, reaching out to snap the elastic of Blaine’s boxer briefs. Blaine laughs and shimmies them down, finally, gloriously, naked. He leans over Kurt, stretching his arm to open the nightstand drawer. He grabs the bottle of lube and tosses it to the bed, then stills.

“There’s condoms, too, if you-“

“No condoms,” he says simply. “I know we’re both clean. I want to feel you.”

Blaine groans and ducks his head so his mouth brushes against Kurt’s cock. “You can’t say that and expect me to last.” With that, he sinks down, wrapping his lips around Kurt’s length and running his tongue along the underside. He bobs his head languidly; this time, the goal isn’t to get Kurt off. 

Kurt squirms under him and Blaine takes that as a sign for more. He looks at Kurt imploringly as his hand makes his way from Kurt’s waist down. Kurt nods. 

“Nervous?” He asks.

“A little- a lot.” Kurt admits with an anxious chuckle. 

Blaine guides Kurt’s knees up, and Kurt’s never felt so exposed. He focuses on his breathing, inhaling and exhaling in a steady rhythm and thinks about how funny it is that he can want something so badly, but still be terrified by it. 

Blaine kisses the inside of his thigh and his finger circles Kurt’s entrance. “Just relax.”

Kurt hadn’t even realized he’d been clenching every muscle. He tries sinking back into the mattress, but every time Blaine gets too close to his hole, he tenses. 

“I’m sorry. I really do want this,” he insists. “It’s just so counterintuitive.”

“It’s alright,” Blaine says soothingly. “We don’t have to do anything today.” He moves to sit up but Kurt grabs his arm.

“No, no. I want you, Blaine. Maybe, for now, I can top? Just so I kind of know what to expect?”

“Of course.”

They switch positions so Blaine is on his back, head propped up on the pillows and knees spread. Kurt grabs the bottle and squirts a dollop onto his hand then coats his fingers in a thick layer. It’s probably too much, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. 

He rests one hand on Blaine’s knee and the other lines up with his hole. His heart is still hammering, but it’s not as bad as before. He tries to focus on Blaine’s eyes, but he keeps gazing down. He pushes his index finger in tentatively, watching with awe as it goes through the tight ring of muscles (oh god it’s so tight), then into the hot, smooth walls of Blaine’s ass. When he’s up to the third knuckle he pulls back out and inspects Blaine’s face.

“Add another,” he instructs, and Kurt dutifully pushes another alongside the first. This time, he gets a more noticeable reaction: Blaine’s breath hitches and his back arches and his eyes drop closed. Kurt keeps pumping in slow, steady thrusts, watching as Blaine begins to accommodate the intrusion. He crooks his fingers and, after a few moments of searching, finds Blaine’s prostate.

“Fuck!” Blaine shouts, hips stuttering with each pass. After a third finger, he grabs Kurt’s wrist. “I’m ready.”

“‘Kay,” Kurt says weakly, pulling his fingers out slowly and grabbing the lube again with his other hand. He carefully applies it, making sure not to dribble onto the sheets, and grabs the base of his cock, bringing it to Blaine’s hole. 

His breath catches when he pushes the tip in. If Blaine felt tight around his fingers, it’s nothing compared to this. He rocks steadily, burying himself deeper, feeling more and more overcome. When he’s finally all the way in he falls forward, his arms on either side of Blaine’s shoulders. 

“You feel so good,” Kurt murmurs, stalling to capture Blaine’s lips.

It’s an incredible new feeling, kissing Blaine like this. Their mouths barely touch but there’s an intense energy coursing between them, magnifying every touch.

Blaine wraps his legs around Kurt’s waist, his heels pressing into the small of his back. “More. I need more.”

Kurt pulls back, savouring the drag over his cock as he goes, then pushes back in swiftly. Apparently the angle is right because Blaine hisses “yes, right there,” and grinds himself up into Kurt.

With that encouragement, Kurt begins to fuck him steadily, swallowing the whimpers that slip out of Blaine. Their hips roll in tandem, working to get Kurt as deep as possible with each thrust, and a sheen of sweat begins to form on their chests. 

“Kurt, Kurt, wait.”

With great restraint, Kurt stops.

“Do you still want to try bottoming?”

“Yes!” He replies, a little too enthusiastically. 

Blaine laughs and kisses his nose. “Lie on your stomach for me?”

It pains Kurt to pull out, but the promise of what’s to come gives him the determination. He looks only for a minute at Blaine’s stretched hole before plunking himself down on the bed. The pillow is cool on his burning face, and he wonders if it would break the mood if he asked Blaine to crack the window. As he decides that yes, it probably would, he feels Blaine’s hands on his ass cheeks, spreading him open. Oh.

“Fuck, look at you,” Blaine marvels, and Kurt knows what this is doing to him, being the first one to touch him. “No one has ever turned me on as much as you do.” 

There’s no lead-in. Blaine licks over Kurt with a flat tongue, warm and wet, making him shudder.

It’s better than he imagined. He’s completely loose under Blaine’s attention, trying his hardest not to rut into the mattress as Blaine alternates between kissing over his entrance and tracing the muscles of his hole. 

“Ready?” Blaine asks, and sits back up. Kurt whimpers at the loss; if his cock wasn’t aching so much he could do that for hours.

He rolls over and waits for Blaine to finish applying the lube. 

This time, Blaine pushes a finger in with ease. Kurt’s thrown at the sensation. It’s not painful, just weird. Obtrusive. There’s a stretch at the second finger, a sharp but not overly painful sting that, after a few tentative pumps, numbs into something quite pleasurable. He couldn’t come from it, but it’s not-

“Oh shit!” Kurt cries out when Blaine’s fingers find the gland. He throws a hand over his mouth only to have his boyfriend swat it away. “Nuh-uh. Wanna hear you.” 

The third finger brings back the stretch, but the way they work over his prostate distracts Kurt from any pain. 

He could do this forever, and he’s kicking himself for not starting earlier, but he can feel his orgasm looming and they’re not done yet. 

“I want to ride you.” 

“What?” Blaine does a double take. “Are you sure? That’s a lot to take for your first time.” He looks far too intrigued to convince Kurt, or even himself.

Kurt sits up and grabs Blaine’s shoulders. “I don’t care. Just- I’ve been thinking about it forever. I want to do it.”

“Yes. Alright. Ride me.”

Kurt pushes Blaine flat on the bed, straddling his waist and pinning him down with one hand while he lubes up Blaine’s cock with the other. His heart hammers in his chest as he brings it to his entrance. Blaine covers his hand.

“It’s OK.” He says soothingly. “I’m here.”

Kurt gathers his resolve and inches down Blaine’s cock, his breath catching in his throat. “Oh God,” he chokes out, the stretch more than he anticipated. Slowly, he works his way down, holding back a hiss. 

“So good, baby,” Blaine moans through clenched teeth. “So tight.”

Kurt waits for himself to adjust; he’s so full and Blaine’s so deep. Blaine murmurs encouragements and rubs over Kurt’s thighs. It’s probably killing him, having Kurt completely still on him, but he doesn’t move.

Finally, Kurt sways his hips tentatively. He sinks even deeper down, but it doesn’t hurt; instead, Kurt throws his head back and scratches his nails along Blaine’s chest as his cock rubs over his prostate. He wants more, so much more, so he lifts himself up and drops back down, fucking himself on Blaine and unable to stop the noises that slip out of his lips.

“Move, Blaine,” he whines pitifully.

Blaine’s hands cling to Kurt’s waist for leverage. As Kurt sinks down, Blaine fucks into him, amplifying his cries and bringing him to the edge. 

Blaine takes Kurt’s cock in his hand and strokes down his length, timing each pass of his hand with their thrusts. The sensation is overwhelming, having Blaine all around him, and with only a few more pumps from Blaine’s fist he comes harder than he’s ever come before. Stars flash behind his eyes and his hips stutter wildly and he’s saying something, though he has no idea what. 

He manages to stay upright as Blaine fucks him a few more times. Blaine groans and goes slack, and Kurt can feel him coming inside him before he rolls off his boyfriend, laying sated on the sheets.

“So?” Blaine prompts, winding his fingers into Kurt’s. “Worth the wait?”

Kurt tries to find the words to explain it, but realizes he can’t. There’s no way to describe the closeness he felt or his gratitude to Blaine for sharing this with him. He responds with a smile, earnest and brilliant, and Blaine smiles back.

As he lays there, sweating and still panting, he thinks back on that day in Blaine’s office, almost two years ago, when he had peaked into Blaine’s notebook and read his notes. He never understood what Blaine meant when he wrote make love, but now it’s so obvious. What they just did, what Kurt’s been waiting for his whole life, wasn’t making love. It was sharing it. It was showing Blaine how good he made him feel every day, in the most physical sense. 

Now that Kurt has someone to share that with, he feels particularly charitable. “I know you have plans for a big fancy supper,” Kurt purrs, “but I was thinking we could put that on hold and order in? I don’t feel like getting out of bed yet.”

Blaine hums happily and kisses him slowly. “You read my mind.”


End file.
